)A 948 
6 

E5 H6 
)opy 1 




SOUVENIR 




OP 



Robert Emmet's 

SPEECH FROM 
THE DOCK 




First Time in Verse by 

MRS. E. M. GRIFFIN HOEY 





library of CONGRESS 
Two Gooles Received 
JUL 28 1904 
a Copyright Entry 
\uL\ \%~lqo if 
CLAS3 X CX XXoL No. 

1 COPY b 




^^ '^r 




^P*X 




^<n8S 



Patriotic speech in the dock as delivered by Robert 
Emmet at the Session House in Dublin, before Lord 
Norbury when he was sentencing him to death Sep- 
tember 19, 1803. 

He was executed the next day and died with calm 
serenity, age 25, for his country. 

Young Emmet was one of God's created noblemen. 
His generous, chivalrous nature and his romantic love 
endeared him to mankind. 

His impromptu celebrated speech is composed in 
verse for the first time 

By Mks. E. M. Griffin Hoey. 



My Lord*:— 

You ask me what I have to say 

Against the doom of death ? 
That question if I answered you 

Would be a waste of breath! 
My sentence! it has been pronounced 

In yonder castle halls! 
Your pampered hangman bides his time 

Beneath the prison walls!! 



I have this to say: False calumnv 

You do upon me heap! 
For the accusations in that dock 

Some day your soul shall weep 
I ask no mercy from this Court! 

My condemnation's wrote! 
But tarnish not my memory 

As it through Time shall float 



You have dared with foulest slander 

To crush my life and hope! 
Your venal enough to swing me! 

Yet when you cast the rope, 
It shall anchor me to Erin, 

In her loved arms I'll rest, 
There sheltered from fierce calumnies 

Beneath the shamrocks rest 
From calumny's fierce storm! 



Were I to only suffer death, 

In silence I would bow! 
Ye t to stain my name for ever 

With oblique you vow. 
Posterity shall be my judge! 

A smile lights up his face, 
My name shall twine around the hearts 

Of mv loved Irish race! 



The man may die, his memory lives, 

And from that friendly port, 
When my shade joins the martyr'd dead, 

Hosannas shall burst forth. 
The bugle call of angels wake 

A host to fight for thee, 
Till the sun bursts over Erin, 

On flag of Liberty. 

[Interrupted by Lord Norbury.] 



If we dare to doubt one moment 

What Government will say, 
You set man against his brother, 

And rule like beasts of prey. 
In every land your pirate band 

Blights as they pass by, 
Then raise their eyes to heaven, 

'Tis all for God thev cry. 



With blasphemy and tyranny 

You crush the rights of man, 
Make your cutthroats and assassins 

Barbarous as they can. 
You mock the widow's falling tears, 

The orphan's bitter cry. 
Oh God! I could not bear it, 

'Twere better I should die. 

Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet, saying the 
mean, wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did ivere not 
equal to their wild designs. 



Immaculate God, I appeal, 

By Thy Throne do I swear, 
By the blood of Erin's martyrs, 

The most blest spirits there. 
The aim of my life Thou knowest, 

To make the tyrants flee, 
And burst the bonds of slavery 

My own dear land from thee. 

Lord Norburv: "I am not here to listen to treason. 



A man who wants no epitaph 

Until his country's free, 
Wont let the weapon of envy 

Impeach his probity. 
To early death you consign me 

With accusations rave, 
Still my name I am preserving, 

Yes, even in the grave. 



[Again interrupted by the Court. 



You remnant of mortality! 

The life-blood you have shed 
Is crying aloud for vengeance 

From living and from dead! 
Oh, yes, you will interrupt me 

'Neath scaffold's terror: Shame! 
Wont let a dying patriot 

Even vindicate his name. 



Where now is your vaunted justice 

To a prisoner at the bar? 
Yet my people they are listening 

And hear me from afar! 
They shall spurn thy name forever! 

Unhallowed is your fame! 
To my country I'm bequeathing 

A proud and honored name! 

[Here he was interrupted by Lord Norbury and told 
to listen to the sentence of the Law.'] 



Why does your lordship insult me? 

Asking the reason why 
That you cannot doom your victim 

To on the scaffold die. 
'Tis my name I am defending 

From prejudice and hate, 
To my people I am speaking 

With a dying martyr's faith. 



How cruel is the policy 

Condemns a man to die, 
Stifles the breath he longs to use 

To call on the Most High. 
You cry out to me: Be silent! 

On my last rights encroach, 
Cast aspersions on my character, 

Upbraidings and reproach. 



You say: I have sold my country, 

Another cruel blow! 
Then ask why death you can't pronounce, 

Why mock your victim so? 
The form prescribes that you should ask, 

And now as there you sit, 
To a priest of the oracle 

I know I must submit. 



But 'neath your scathing calumny, 

I insist upon the form 
To stand here as a dying man 

Repelling taunts with scorn. 
With tenderness a judge should pass 

The sentence that has loomed, 
Not gloat on the supposed culprit 

He has already doomed. 

[Lord Norbury said: "You may proceed."] 



You say "as emiss'ry of France 

I'd my country sever! 
That I wanted change of masters!" 

God forbid it ever! 
As our auxiliaries in war 

And our allies in peace 
We invited them join us 

'Till our thraldom would cease! 



[Interrupted by the Court.] 



And shall I listen here to you! 

With shameless falsehood vow 
That as emissary of France 

I've sold my country now! 
And for what end debase myself, 

By birth! by wealth! and deed! 
Among the noblest in the land 

Might I not proudly lead! 



The crudest taunt you yet have thrown 

I leave it to my God ! 
Is that for gold to France I sold 

My own loved sacred sod! 
Cowardly! Weak! and venal Judge! 

My name you cannot brand, 
As man to man I stand to-day 

Your peer in any land. 



If the French came, proud invaders — 

I should upon them turn, 
With sword and torch would beat them back 

If not my country burn! 
On the last green spot of Freedom 

Among the flames I'd lie, 
As a holocaust for Erin 

There would I proudly die! 



To emulate George Washington 

Was my chief desire! 
His sacrifice! His daring deeds! 

Had set my soul on fire! 
I only asked the aid of France 

To bring the thing about, 
So like that brave, noble hero 

We'd turn the tvrants out! 



Implacable the enemy 

Our bosom makes its lair. 
Relentless the cruelties 

My people have to bear! 
You say I am accountable 

For blood that will be shed! 
I repel all accusations 

Your satellites have said! 



You say " I am the keystone 

Of all conspiracy! " 
That's an honor but you know not 

The noble men with me, 
Whose splendor, virtues and genius, 

Are well known in the land! 
Who with scorn disdains your friendship, 

Or touch your blood-stained hand! 



[Lord Norbury again interrupted.'] 



You can circle the horizon 

That bounds our tearful Isle, 
See the legions you have martyr'd 

With happy faces smile! 
Yon dismal cloud, the lightning's flash, 

Show reservoir of blood! 
There, you'll swim with Ireland's traitors, 

In its dark, loathsome flood! 

[Lord Norbury: "Have I to sit here and listen to 
you?"] 



Ever doomed to execration, 

Thine hirelings and thee! 
Ireland don't forget the murders 

Of patriots like me! 
We behold their names emblazoned 

Like sunlight in the sky, 
It is glorious to be a martyr, 

Because they never die! 



[Lord Norbury interrupted again.] 



Do you think you can appall me, 

And gag me as a slave, 
Slandering my reputation, 

While passing to the grave ? 
I fear not the Omnipotent, 

Shall meet Him soon on high! 
He knows I would gladly perish 

To make the Britons fly! 

[Lord Norbury says: "The son oj your father using 
such language.'"] 



Spirits of the illustrious, 

Beholding this sad scene, 
Know the noblest and the bravest 

Have perished for the Green! 
They hear my last words cheer you on, 

When gleam your swords on high, 
Will bless, each one, a rebel's son, 

Who never feared to die!! 



Oh! my venerated Father 

Look down upon thy son, 
For patriotic principle 

You see my race is run! 
In youthful days thou hast instilled 

If was noble to ye life! 
The redemption of my country 

From misery and strife. 



Let no man when I am dead 

With dishonor attaint, 
No one, would now dare defend me 

Not if he were a saint. 
In other times shall men arise 

From our proud unborn race, 
The wrongs of Erin will avenge 

For mine smote England's face! 

[Interrupted again. 



They'll find me waiting by a tomb, 

My name there uninscribed! 
I'll join the marching hosts that day — 

— Were my dust petrified! 
The hour will come, ye hypocrites! 

The writing's on the wall' 
For Irishmen to save your crown 

On bended knees you'll fail! 

[Interrupted by Lord Norbnry.) 



My lords you're very impatient 

For the sacrifice, Wait! 
Death's terrors congeals not my blood, 

It thrills to circulate. 
Though you are bent to destroy me 

It to heaven shall cry 
Hasten! thou God-given heroes 

'Neath whose swords tyrants die. 



Loved Erin when you have risen 

'Mid the plaudits of men, 
Let my epitaph be written — 

And not until then! 
The sweet charity of silence — 

It is all I now crave 
As I sink into the bosom 

Of the cold, silent grave. 



In obscurity let me rest! 

When the tyrants have fed, 
You'll proudly the harp and sunburst 

Wave over your loved dead! 
Let no man write my epitaph 

Till my country has won 
Her own place among the nations! 

My lords, I have now done!! 



BY THE AUTHOR. 



This centennial year of Robert Emmet's death is 
causing discussion as to his interment, the place 
being concealed fearing confiscation by the English 
Government. Only a few men knew the spot and it 
was guarded tenderly. Before coming to this country it 
was pointed out to me, and the reason for doing so 
explained, I kept the secret and supposed the men in 
charge were known to the proper parties. Now it 
appears they are not. 

Discussing the question, I found many Irish, as well 
as Irish Americans, had never read Mr. Emmet's 
speech. I thought if it was condensed a little and put 
in verse it might induce perusal and lead to a study of 
the heart-felt speech of the young hero within the grasp 
of death, which is a key to the inhuman persecutions 
of our people and show the world why Ireland is the 
Mother of Patriots. 

The breathing patriotism of the speech I have en- 
deavored to illustrate with the hope that some more 
brilliant mind will do it the justice it deserves. The 
essentials of it will be found in the lines with a 
word or sentence added only to complete a verse. 

The heart of Robert Emmet was a font from which 
the pure life-spring of thought took its rise. Its trib- 
utaries submerging all consideration for his own wel- 
fare and surrounding his mind, so that it became an 
isle of love, upon which he stood enthralled, looking 
with sorrow on the untold sufferings of his people, until 
every fibre of his noble nature thrilled with devotion 



and intrepidly he consecrated himself to her sacred 
cause, for which he died on the scaffold. His severed 
head was spiked and exhibited on the jail wall in 
Thomas Street, to deter others from defending their 
Motherland. 

That deed was poor policy, and has, and will, in- 
carnate millions, with the heart and feelings of Emmet, 
who will swoop down some day like an avalanche and 
bury the oppressors in oblivion. 

Then the sun-kissed epitaph of Robert Emmet will 
be written. 



i-, 



iiiiiiiiiiiir 

021 342 547 A 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



021 342 547 A # 



